Fugue
by wwgost
Summary: Vincent's mind finally breaks. An odd, twisted journey through mental illness, love, humor, darkness, the dangers of the past, and the unshaking support of friends.
1. Chapter 1

Fugue 1

* * *

_I feel stupid, but I know it won't last for long  
And I've been guessin', and I coulda been guessin' wrong  
You don't know me now, I kinda thought that you should somehow  
Has that whole mad season got ya down?-Matchbox 20, Mad Season_

* * *

He did not know this place.

Vincent had been kidnapped a few times, though most of the time he was on the other side of the equation. But he had been trained. He knew how to assess the situation, to count his kidnappers, to take stock of his physical condition, and so on. But this was strange. This, to quote Veld, beat all.

He was in a very comfortable home. Someone lived here. Someone took great pains to make this a place that they would enjoy living. He could tell that, unmoving with his eyes still closed. The bed was large, the linens luxurious. The scents were clean and natural; he could smell on himself expensive shampoo and soap, used as recently as last night. Who the hell kidnapped someone and then bathed them? He sensed no one else in the area and experimentally opened his eyes.

His impression was correct. The furniture was simple and classic; the place had a pleasant, light and airy feel to it. Using every bit of his Turk training and genetic enhancement, he moved with absolute silence about the room. There were some Turk uniforms, too large for him, in the laundry, along with high quality silk and cotton shirts, jeans, and leather pants that were his size thrown over chairs. Dresser drawers revealed unremarkable pajamas and workout clothing. Soft leather boots, also in his size, made him smile, briefly, then frown at the mystery.

Then again, didn't everyone wear a nine medium?

He moved on to the bathroom, finding nothing remarkable there except a ton of hair products, most of which he smelled on himself. Was this a place he stayed frequently? If so, why did he not remember? The kitchen, while attractive in that showroom, home store kind of way, held nothing but some take-out leftovers and a few dirty dishes.

The living room made his heart stop in his chest. There were pictures. Possibly a hundred, all over the wall. Pictures of his parents, of him, as a Turk. Pictures of him in his cloak, with AVALANCHE, though they had been aged by hard experience, and he did not remember whatever scene was behind them. Cid, in front of a house but it was larger than that one room hovel he had before.

Then, he was with a bald Costan man he vaguely remembered; the partner of that redhead Cloud used to be in love with, and the body language suggested some degree of intimacy. More of him with children and a small brown older woman, her great affection for him plain in her lined face.

A life he did not remember living. He backed away in terror, and went into the closet.

Where was his cloak? He finally found it, in a garment box, in scraps. The sight was his undoing and reaching within himself, he finally realized what else was wrong.

Silence. Not in this place but in his mind.

The phone rang, so he crept out into the bedroom again. "Vince, it's Reeve. Rude called from work and said you weren't feeling well this morning when he tried to wake you up, but I just wanted to check on you. I know how your migraines get and you've had several the last couple weeks. Just wanted to make sure you didn't need a ride to the hospital for an IV or anything. And yes, I probably woke you up with this call. If you don't call me back, though, I'm coming over there to check on you. I don't like it when you don't answer your phone even if you hate the damn things. I don't care. I didn't hire you to like phones. In fact, I'm not sure what I hired you to do except order me around and sleep all day like a cat. Well, you have two hours and I'll see you at your place. Bye!"

Vincent looked at the phone, tilting his head like a curious dog. He wanted to call back, but it was suddenly too much. The colors, the lights, the sound, the pictures of people that he didn't recognize, or that he did but couldn't understand what they were doing there. He knew who Reeve was. He wanted to call Cid, but again, the phone overwhelmed him. He wanted to be back in his coffin but could sense, somehow, he was too far away.

It was all too much. Even the bed, not his own, was so bright and unfamiliar. He crawled on his hands and knees back to the closet, so cool and dark, where his cloak was, and lay there until Reeve found him, hours later.

* * *

"Vince, try to stay calm. They are getting you a room." Reeve could tell his friend was running very low on 'calm'; a ride through a city he didn't know, in a car he didn't remember being in before, was about all that could be asked of anyone. But he thought it would be less stressful than an ambulance and so had driven Vincent to the emergency room himself. Now, he wondered if the ambulance would have gotten them faster service.

It was too damn much like the last time, after Omega, when he had found him sitting in a hospital waiting room, completely catatonic.

"Why do I need a room? And why am I still in my pajamas?"

"Shiva, I do not think I can do this. Rude will be here shortly." He realized, belatedly, that his friend had no memory of his own husband, outside trying to kill him on occasion, and this was likely to redefine 'awkward moment.' So he patted Vincent's back soothingly and filled out the admission forms. He watched with some amusement as Doctor Hankins, Vincent's therapist, ripped the staff a new asshole for not admitting her patient, who obviously was in a complete dissociative state and who had a history of depression and post traumatic stress.

He found it comforting to have a little backup, and a professional at that. Last time it had just been he and Cid, and he'd fought the urge to go insane himself. Finally the therapist came over. "They have a room on the family wing. Anything with security is wasted on him; if he decides to leave, he will. This way, at least he won't feel like he's in a hospital, so much. Vincent, it won't be long. How long have you been feeling like this?"

He looked at Reeve, who nodded. "Since I woke up. I didn't know where I was. Where is Cid?"

"We called him. He's waiting on commercial airship. Says he doesn't want to fly over with two hours sleep."

"Good, don't let him."

Reeve smiled at the bossy tone in his friend's voice. Even in fugue state, Vincent was still imperious.

"Do you have a hairbrush?"

"No, Vince. I generally don't bring one to the emergency room."

He fiddled with the ring on his finger. "I'm married?" He looked first at Reeve and got only a pained look in response, and so turned to Doctor Hankins.

"Yes." She smiled. "And happy. Do you want to undergo some hypnosis when you get to your room, see if it helps? Or rest first?"

"Let me see how I feel. Can I talk to Cid?" Reeve dialed the number and stepped away to give Vincent some privacy. After a few moments, his friend held up the phone. "He wants to talk to you now."

"Fucking hell," was the first thing the pilot said, and he thought it summed things up rather accurately. "Have you talked to the doctor?"

"Not yet. His therapist is doing bodily damage to get him into a room and get a full blown psychiatrist on the case. His neurologist is on the way in as well to make sure he hasn't had a stroke or hemorrhage. Going opinion is that he's too functional but we have to be sure. Or he could have a lesion."

"Shit. Just wish it would stop happening. Told him Rude was cool, not to worry."

"Really now."

"Well what was I s'posed to say? Ain't the time to remind him what I think of Turks." And really, Cid forgave that issue as long as Rude took good care of Vincent. "Anyway, might not be there till tomorrow mornin'. By the time I get a commercial into Costa, the last ferry's gone. Let him know I'm on the way though?"

"I will."

"Might hafta tell him more than once."

"I know." Rude's massive bulk could be seen coming down the hallway, but any misgivings that Reeve or the therapist had about his reception were put to rest immediately when Vincent stood and took a few hesitant steps in his direction.

Rude gathered him up against his chest. "Thought you had amnesia, babe."

There was no verbal response, but Vincent made no attempt to move away. After a moment the two of them sat back down. He looked up. "I'm s-"

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence."

Vincent gave a defiant look, but complied for now. "Okay."

"Need to call Reno, all right?"

He nodded and when Rude was gone, turned to Reeve. "I'm not sure what to say."

"Well, you two were friends for quite a while. You met when you were trying to skip out on a meeting and I caught you, and had Tseng make you ride with him. After the all the hell with Deepground, you probably should have gotten together but didn't for more than a year. I don't know because when you did, you didn't tell anyone. And like the impertinent little shit you are, you eloped to go on an assignment as a family dependent that you had no business on for health reasons. I, however, relented and sent you anyway just to shut you up, and so you also didn't tell me you were married for four damned months. And so, other than your being reasonably happy, I really don't know much about your love life."

"Oh." He turned the ring again. "Oops."

"I apologize, Vince, you're ill and that came out much more harshly than I intended." He rubbed the back of his neck. He needed a vacation.

"No. It's nice to have someone not walk on eggshells around me. I'm missing several years of my life, but I'm not going to break. I do however have a headache and I'm thirsty. I'd like a soda."

Doctor Hankins returned. "We have a room in the family wing. That way your friends can come and go, and if you like, Rude can stay with you."

"I'd like that. I trust him. Gods, this has to be so awful for him."

"Not a picnic for you," Reeve reminded gently.

"Well, it is a bit stressful," he admitted with a tiny smile, and got up to follow the therapist down the hallway.

By the time they got there, all of Vincent's good spirits, and energy, had evaporated. Reeve returned with the requested soda and fielded calls from Tifa, promising to call her when the man was up to visitors but _not now_ and _stop crying_. Rude then returned from calling Reno, and was informed of the sleeping arrangements.

"Are you sure? You don't-"

"It doesn't matter. I don't want to be alone, and I feel better with you here."

"All right. You want anything? A Tranq? Something to eat?"

"Both, if that's okay."

Reeve left to tell the nurses' station, and to have Tseng relay the message to Reno that his partner would also need a change of clothing. A nurse returned with a small sandwich, a glass of tea, and an injection. Within minutes, the plate was empty and Vincent had begun to doze.

"You need to go back to the office?" Rude asked. Reeve looked at his watch. The work day was nearly over, for normal people, but then Reeve never punched a time clock.

"I don't imagine I'd get anything done. I think I'll just go home. Call if..."

"Yeah." The large Turk removed his shoes, jacket, and tie, and untucked his shirt, lying down on top of the covers. "Reno oughta be here soon with my stuff."

"Look, if there is anything, anything at all that you need, let one of us know." Reeve wanted to say that they were family, that Vincent meant oh, so much to all of them. But he knew if he let one more word escape his throat, he would cry.

"Will do," Rude said, and punched at the inadequate hospital pillow. Reeve left them like that, walked down the sterile hospital hallway and out to his car, only seeing then that Vincent had left his phone on the passenger seat. The phone he'd been afraid to use, but also wanted to keep near.

He'd take it to him later. He drove home, dry eyed, and went to bed even though it was only four in the afternoon.


	2. Chapter 2

_I see fair to warn you  
that there's nothing here to stop me  
from drowning in the darkness  
of the things I can't control  
the angel near my heaven  
who I know will always haunt me  
is constant and convincing  
I've a long long ways to go—Jeff Black, Bless My Soul_

* * *

Reno arrived a little over an hour later, with a duffel bag and a worried look. "Called Cloud, yo. Tifa is in hysterics."

"That's news," Rude mumbled, and sat up. "Any chance you can get her calm before she visits?"

"Can you steal some of his drugs?" Vincent was still knocked out, curled into the pillow and his bad arm, gauntlet confiscated by the medical staff, under him, hidden even in sleep. "Seriously, once she gets going, man...Cloud will be done with work about eight or so."

"You two come back in the morning. Not sure how much stimulation he can take right now. Seems to have a real short tolerance. Well, when he's awake."

"Any idea what happened?"

"No." Rude shrugged. The normalcy of the day before hurt with a physical pain. "Couldn't get him awake this morning but you know how he is." Reno rolled his eyes. The gunman was infamous for not exactly being a morning person. "Then Reeve called. Man, shoulda stayed home. He's been kinda, well, edgy lately, but he gets like that sometimes. Where the sleep meds don't work as well, and he can't find enough to do. But that's happened before, so I didn't..."

Reno squeezed his shoulder. "Look, man. We'll be back tomorrow if it's okay. Call me?"

"Yeah." Reno left and he changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, and crawled under the covers, careful not to disturb the man already there. In spite of the stress of the day, fatigue took over and after a while he slept.

When he woke to the deep silence of the night, his surroundings disoriented him until he remembered. He turned his head, and looked at Vincent, still asleep.

Rude had never seen him so vulnerable. Even when he had been sick or injured, he was still strong and spirited, all piss and vinegar, to quote Reno. But this...He leaned over and stroked his hair, the way he had a thousand times, while watching movies, or after making love, or sitting on Ma's porch swing. But now it was for his own assurance, not Vincent's, because Rude was so very frightened.

Vincent looked the same, if one didn't notice that his own soft pajamas were replaced by those given to the patients. His face was relaxed, surrendered to the drugs that the nurses had given him. His hair fell softly over his porcelain face, lashes almost covering the bruised smudges under his eyes. The mouth that had been so quick to smirk, or to bite a lower lip in consternation when his computer did not do as it was told, only looked a little pinched. He almost looked normal.

Even the bed was tastefully done up to not look like a hospital bed and, being in the family wing, was nearly as large as theirs at home. If Vincent's mind were whole, he'd have something to say about the thread count of the sheets.

Rude swallowed around a lump in his throat. What if Vincent never came back? What if the darkness had, at long last, claimed him?

He turned a little and slipped the rest of the way under the warm blankets, pulling the limp body against him. They weren't really a 'cuddling' couple, but now Rude felt a primal need to protect his helpless mate. Twenty four hours ago, they had met for dinner and wine between their respective workplaces. Walked home, slowly, enjoying the warm Midgar night, joking about something Reeve had said. Sometime during the night, Vincent had cried out in his sleep, tortured by the dreams of his past.

This morning, when he had not shown up for work, Reeve had gone to check on him. He found a blank eyed stranger, who had not known where he was. Rude had run, on foot because it was faster in Edge traffic, to the emergency room the moment he had gotten Reeve's panicked phone call.

Strangely, though, half asleep, he seemed to have no problem with Rude holding him, memories be damned. "It's all right, baby. I'll protect you."

"Okay." He fell back asleep without question. He might be off his rocker, but he was not stupid. He seemed utterly aware of his condition, of his weakness, and of his need for trustworthy allies. He stirred after a few moments. "Where is Cid?" He asked again.

"Coming later." It was only his most recent memories that the condition-dissociative fugue, the doctor had called it-affected. "Too little sleep to fly himself, he's waiting on a commercial."

"Mmm." The hospital room was dark, and quiet, third shift having taken over. Parking lots shone through the decorative shrubbery, making odd patterns on the curtains. The two of them watched for a while, the lunatic and the forgotten husband. "You're taking this rather well." There was the dry humor, the Vincent he knew and loved.

Rude snorted. "Thinking the same thing."

"Cid said to trust you." Well that was a switch. Time was, the crusty old bastard wanted him run out of town on a rail, Venus Gospel up his ass sans lube, for the simple crime of even touching his best friend. The offense had been compounded by Rude's being a Turk, of course. "I'm sorry."

"None of that." He rolled Vincent over a little so he could hold him closer. "I'll protect you," he said again. They weren't usually so clingy, their bond seeming to transcend the physical, but Vincent seemed content to just lie there and watch the leaf-shadows on the curtains.

"I married you."

"You did. On purpose. You were even a little insistent."

"Did we have a honeymoon?"

"Northern Crater."

"Please tell me you made that up to mess with me."

"I wish I did. But no. When you're better, we'll go to Mideel. That's where we eloped. Didn't tell anyone, but no time to stay for a honeymoon. We both had an assignment at the crater." They were quiet a while longer. "Or anywhere you want. I guess the least I owe you is a proper honeymoon." It was true, with both their jobs, most of their travel was less than romantic in nature.

"What if I don't get better?"

"I'll take care of you." They lay together on the bed, not bothering to pretend it wasn't a hospital, until dawn.

* * *

In the morning, which Vincent thought came entirely too early, and with a lousy hospital breakfast to increase the insult, he was introduced to his psychiatrist.

"Mister Valentine, I'm Doctor Hammond Ney. How are you this morning?"

"Wishing I had a better cup of coffee and the last what, five years of my life?"

"More or less," Rude supplied.

"Well, as I was saying..." Another knock sounded at the door and not waiting for an answer, Cid Highwind walked through and grabbed up his best friend in his arms.

"Gods damn it, Vince. Can't turn my back for a second." Vincent returned the embrace. Reeve, he remembered, Rude he instinctively trusted, but this was _Cid_. "It's all right, it's all...shhhh..."

"I need to speak to my patient."

"Well, yer patient can speak to _you _in a hellfire minute." This more than anything reassured him, the combination of Rude's quiet, steady presence and Cid's profane defense. These two people would die before letting him come to harm. He pulled away, a bit shaky but stronger.

"They will stay. Both of them," his tone informing the doctor that this was Vincent Valentine's room and no one else's, thank you very much.

The message was received loud and clear and the psychiatrist, fortunately, was not so arrogant and inexperienced, in spite of his appearing to Vincent to be roughly sixteen years old, as to think his patient was crazy and therefore to be disregarded. "I see. As long as they are not disruptive," he leveled a glance at Cid, "I see no problem."

"Brought ya breakfast from that little place on the corner. Bacon and egg biscuit."

Vincent tore it open with gusto. "Coffee?"

A steaming mug appeared at his elbow.

"What did you want to ask me?" he asked, suddenly remembering the psychiatrist's existence. To hell with manners; hells, there had to be some benefit to insanity.

"I wanted to talk to you about your medical history, or what of it you could remember. I understand your recent history will have to wait, but your childhood, and your time as a Turk, and after..."

Oh, the Hojo Years. Why did no one want to say it out loud?

"Or, if you prefer, you can write it down. We have intake forms, and you can go at your own pace."

Vincent brushed biscuit crumbs off his institutional pajamas. "Let's do that, then.

"Doctor Hankins seems to think you have bipolar disorder, rather than simple depression. Some of these self assessment tests are geared toward that. I'm afraid it's...rather a lot." He put down a stack of papers about an inch thick.

"You have got to be kidding me."

"Well, ya ain't got your computer. What else ya gonna do?"

"Cid, you are not helping." He looked at Rude, who opted not to respond. "I'd die, but that's impossible, isn't it?"

The room descended into awkward silence.

"Isn't it?"

"Yep, sure is! I'm goin' to get a coffee, anyone else want one?" Cid disappeared through the door.

"He already had a coffee, Rude. What doesn't he want me to know?"

Rude was saved from answering by a phone call from Reno, and stepped outside. Vincent, no one's fool, made a fast, genetically-altered dive for his medical chart, and flipped forward to the years he suspected he would need. "Actually, I will have a copy made of that if you wish. It's your right, to know what has been done to you."

"I'll read this one, thanks. You can get another one from ShinRa." Years had taught Vincent not to trust this, or any doctor, to follow through on promises.

"Chaos is dead." That explained the eerie silence in his mind. "The Protomateria destroyed. I'm not immortal? Is that what this means?"

"Essentially, but in its place, you are no longer quite as resistant to disease and injury, just what is dependent on your genetic alterations. Also, you are suffering from the physical damage caused by Hojo and his experiments, damage you didn't feel because of Chaos. I think your friend who escaped for his imaginary cup of coffee feared you would use this information to end your life."

"I obviously have not done so yet. There must be a reason, in spite of...dear gods. What _else _is wrong with me?"

"A great deal. We are here to try to fix that." A nurse walked in and apologized for the intrusion, drew blood, and handed him a covered plastic cup, its purpose obvious.

Vincent looked at the stack of assessments, with a pen on top. Then at the size of his own medical file, and raised an eyebrow in amusement as he picked up the sample cup and headed for the bathroom.

"Good luck."


	3. Chapter 3

**_ShinRa Medical Facility Psychiatric Division  
Intake Evaluation  
Patient Self-Assessment_**

Name:  
Vincent Valentine

Date of Birth:  
October 13, 1950

Occupation:  
Reeve Tuesti's tax dependent

Are you currently working?  
No, I'm currently in a Psych ward, genius

If no, are you currently off work for health reasons?  
DUH.

_Background:_  
Please describe your background and close and distant family relationships:  
Both parents deceased; mother in early childhood, father while I was away at Academy

How would you describe your childhood?  
Odd.

How would you describe your adult life so far?  
See attached notebook. Last five/six years missing. May need second notebook.

_Diagnosis:_  
Have you had a diagnosis from a GP, Psychiatrist, or other health professional?  
I think that's why I'm HERE.

_Current Stress Level:_  
Please provide a brief overview of the current stress level in your life.  
I'm crazy, I have amnesia, excuse me, dissociative fugue, the food sucks, the coffee sucks, and I have writer's cramp.

Health concerns?  
I DON'T REMEMBER!

Financial Worries?  
Pretty sure I have money.

Relationship problems?  
I don't remember my husband. I'd call that a problem.

Legal concerns?  
Apparently I was arrested once.

Loss of attachment?  
To paraphrase Cid Highwind, I have no fucking clue what this means.

Employment worries?  
No employment, no worries.

Sexual problems?  
I don't remember, but the husband is pretty hot.

Exploitation, bullying, or abuse by others?  
See: adult life summary on page one.

Anticipated future stresses?  
What, am I psychic?

Do you have problems controlling self (anger or impulsive acts)?  
Talk to the demons.

Addiction issues?  
Coffee. It sucks here.

_Sleep problems:_  
What is your standard sleep pattern?  
Thirty years on, thirty years off.

Do you have problems getting to sleep?  
No, this list of questions is pretty much doing it for me.

Do you wake frequently during the night?  
Yes. Screaming.

Do you wake too early in the morning?  
If it's morning, it's early.

Is your sleep disturbed by dreams?  
Is this a trick question?

_When things started going wrong:_  
When did your current problems start?  
Hojo.

Did your problems seem to start after a particular event or situation?  
Hojo

If yes, what was it?  
HOJO.

Why do you think...

Vincent looked up, and worked the cramp out of his fingers. After a moment, he stood and walked out of the room, down the hall, and across to the nurses' station. Without asking, he picked up a permanent marker out of the pen holder and returned to his room, wrote in large letters **HOJO**across each remaining page, replaced the binder clip, and put the assessment back in the envelope to be returned to the psychiatrist.

That done, he toed off his slippers, crawled back in bed, and curled up for a well earned nap. He'd do the rest of the damnable assessments later.

Cid arrived to wake him for his lunch, figuring a bacon cheeseburger and potato salad, and a large iced tea would be an improvement over whatever overcooked crap lay under the suspicous plastic cover on the hospital tray. "Let's eat outside, Vince. Get you out in the sun."

Vincent put on his slippers, the kind prisoners wore. Cid frowned; it wasn't as if the institutional pajamas weren't enough. In his new, second life, his friend had become something of a fashion plate, leather pants and silk shirts, designer jeans and fancy boots. What was even more worrisome was that he didn't seem to care.

"Cid, stop fretting. It's not like anyone is going to see me, except other mental patients."

All right, that was better. And he was taking time to do his hair, the best he could with nothing but a comb. They walked out into the courtyard and chose a table.

"Has anyone seen Reeve?"

"Called him at work. He ain't getting much done, but he's at work. Just hidin' in his office."

"I wish he wouldn't worry. He did everything he could. And a nice disappearing act you two pulled this morning, by the way."

"Well..."

"Cid. I'm going to tell you this exactly once. I. Am. Not. Suicidal."

"How do you know?" He watched as his friend took a huge bite of the burger and then put it down, looking around for a napkin. He handed one over, sympathizing with the effort of eating one-handed. "Rude's gonna bring your athletic gauntlet up, by the way. It ain't pointy so the staff said you could have it. He's gonna get some stuff done at the office, but he's stoppin' by home to bring up a few things. Your bath stuff, and shampoo, and hair gunk."

He said something unintelligible and washed the food down with a gulp of tea. "Thank you. And I know I'm not going to kill myself because after reading my medical file, I would have by now."

Damned good point.

"And thank you for remembering potato salad. Fries get soggy in takeout containers."

"Just how you know that? Not like we ever got much takeout on the road."

"I...I don't know. I remember the oddest things. I was shot, again, wasn't I? I remembered that, when I woke up in the night, it was like a phantom pain."

"Yeah. You weren't hurt bad and by the time I even got here, you were throwin' a little bitch fit and packin' your bags to leave the hospital. I forget what you didn't like. Pillows prolly weren't fluffy enough."

"I'm a high maintenance ass. Great."

"Well Vince, and I do love ya, I do, but we call ya Princess for a reason." Cid laughed at his friend's mortified expression. "Rude said he'd be back after lunch. How are things, yanno...goin'?"

"He's either heavily medicated or the calmest person on Gaia."

"His whole family is batshit. You're nothin' new."

"Oh, good." It took long enough to finish the burger and half of the potato salad for Vincent to realize he may have been insulted, but then chalked it up to Cid being Cid. "I had half my blood drawn this morning, or at least that's what it felt like, and then they made me pee in a cup for a drug screen."

"That oughta be interestin'."

"Indeed. As I have no idea what my recreational life has been like for the last several years."

"Well, you aint' exactly been known to turn down a smoke. Or a brownie."

"Oh, dear."

"Not like it's illegal, Vince."

"No, but my psychiatrist will likely not be pleased. At least, not when he graduates from high school." His eyes twinkled with humor and in spite of the dire situation, or perhaps because of it, they began to laugh. Vincent looked down at his empty takeout container, and was quiet for a while. "I think what frustrates me, is by all accounts, I've had a good life the last few years. And now it's gone. I'm left with the horror, the sadness, the failure, but not what appears to be a completely functional, content existence that before I never would have dreamed of having."

"Well. Hadn't been perfect by any means, you've still had your problems. But I'll be honest, if anybody told me back then, you'd be a married homeowner with a job and a car and a buncha kids runnin' around behind ya callin ya Ti Vincie, well. You coulda slapped my ass and called me Sally." Cid shook his head. "You'll get it back."

A man in pajamas walked up to them and handed Vincent a perfectly good banana. "Can you get the bugs out of this?"

He blew on it. "There, done."

"Thank you, sir." The man shuffled off.

"Cid, there are crazy people in here."

Again, they laughed until the tears came, and Cid walked with Vincent back to his room. Once there, Vincent began to yawn, the heavy meal and warm sunlight having their effects.

"Well, I guess I'll scare outta here and let you catch a nap. Been crashing in your guest room. Rude said there wasn't any sense in me getting a room. Especially since he's always here."

"No, of course not."

Cid told his friend goodbye, but he was already nearly asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

_Who's gonna pick you up_  
_When you fall_  
_Who's gonna hang it up_  
_When you call_  
_Who's gonna pay attention_  
_To your dreams_  
_Who's gonna plug their ears_  
_When you scream_  
_You can't go on_  
_Thinking nothing's wrong_  
_Who's gonna drive you home tonight-The Cars, Drive_

* * *

Rude showed up during Vincent's second nap of the day, and tried to be as quiet as he could while stocking the shower with absurdly expensive shampoo and body wash and a half dozen hair care products. Coming out of the bathroom, he looked down at the bed.

Vincent, just napping. Not drugged, not afraid. Just a good, solid, post lunch nap. He called Tseng and took the rest of the afternoon off, changed into his leisure clothes, and joined him. What the hells, it had been a truly shitty two days. But Vincent sensed the movement beside him. "Whazzit?"

"Nothing, babe. Just took the rest of the day off."

"Kay."

"Awfully trusting for a Turk."

"Mmph." He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Cid brought lunch. We ate outside."

"Here." He gave Vincent the athletic gauntlet he'd bought for running and swimming. It was specially weighted to imitate a real arm during exercise, but more importantly for the moment, held no sharp edges and so was approved by the medical staff. Vincent slipped it on over his ruined hand and flexed the glossy black polymer fingers.

"Sweet."

"Brought your phone and your computer too."

That woke him up a bit more. Rude could practically hear the synapses firing. "Pictures on them?"

"Yes. You want to look at them?"

A sleepy nod. Rude handed him the phone first and cued up the photo album. "The family."

"There are a lot of them."

"Thirty-seven, the last time we bothered to count, and that's just the kids." Vincent kept scrolling back, until he found the picture of their wedding rings. He stopped.

"I wish I remembered this."

"You will." Rude took the phone away, and pulled him close, brushing aside the hair again and cradling Vincent's head against his heart. "I held you like this before. After Chaos returned to the planet, the quiet scared you."

"It's nice."

"Yeah." They fell asleep like that, until the nurse woke them for Vincent's therapy appointment.

* * *

"All right Vincent, are you comfortable?"

"Yes, and terrified, if that makes sense." The hand in Rude's trembled.

"It's all right. We won't go so deep that you can't bring yourself out, do you understand?" He nodded. "I want you to lean back and relax. Breathe deeply. Think of a relaxing place, somewhere that you feel safe. Make your breathing slow and deep, listen to its rhythm. That's it. Where are you?"

"Kalm."

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm packing. I'm leaving for the Academy. My father is so excited but I can tell he's trying to not tell me to behave. He knows I won't."

"Why do you like this memory?"

"It's before anything was bad. It's like, my last perfect memory. Everything was a new possibility. I get in the car, my best friend is driving. He's older than I am and has a license. I can tell my dad thinks I'm taking too much stuff, that we'll drive too fast, that I'm too young. But he's proud of me too. We pull out onto the highway and I remember to turn around and wave out the window." It was the last time Vincent would see his father alive.

"That's good. Hold on to that, all right? Now, I want you to tell me where you are right now."

The happy look left Vincent's face. "I'm in the hospital. I'm sick again."

"Do you know how you got here?"

"In a car, with Reeve. Then I slept. I was Tranqed. I'm not that dense." He sounded offended.

"Let's back up a little. What happened before that?"

"I woke up in a strange place, but I think I live there. I just don't remember. Something Hojo did to me, hurt my mind so I won't remember things. I think he did things on purpose, so I wouldn't remember, so he wouldn't get in trouble. I remember. I can hear him telling Lucrecia, over the sound of the drill. Something about the grant money. It wasn't supposed to be spent on humans. He's laughing but then he sends her out of the room, he even doesn't trust her to not turn him in, what he's about to do."

"So you remember Hojo?"

"Of course I remember Hojo." The arrogance was plain; they might as well have been particularly slow school children. "And I remember waking up. And trying to kill him, and stop Sephiroth. It's after that...It's just gone."

"I think that is enough for today. If you feel up to it, we can go deeper tomorrow. You can wake up now."

Vincent sagged against Rude as Doctor Hankins turned up the lights. "Well. I'm not sure I remember much more, but it does seem clearer. I feel calmer, somehow. And hungry."

"And I'd like to bring that motherfucker back to life just for the pleasure of killing him again," Rude ground out, a little hung up on the drill part. "But instead, I'll go rob the deli for you. Stay put. I mean it."

"I take it I have a habit of scampering off?" he smiled shyly at the therapist when Rude was gone.

"I'll say. And, do you remember from your youth, if you had any mood swings or trouble sleeping? Risky behavior?

He was thoughtful for a while. "I did. I'd go through periods of always being in trouble, but my grades were good so no one made too much of it. My father just wrote it off as being a kid, but then I'd be depressed for weeks at a time. Again, just being a teenager. Do you think it was bipolar, that early?"

"I have to consult with the psychiatrist. But yes, we may be able to make you better." She patted him on the shoulder. "And, please take your meds tonight. You need your rest." Then she stopped. "Vincent? Something you said under hypnosis. 'I'm sick again.' You remember, on some level, being sick before."

"I have been?"

"Yes. This is the worst, but yes. We know of two episodes that were dissociative in nature, just not this severe or complete. And you remember them on some level. Fugue is the mind's reaction to trauma, a protective measure against what it can't handle right now. And you've had more than your share of that. But, what you have going for you is a solid care team and a social network of family and friends who love you unconditionally. So many patients of mental illness do not have either. You'll be all right. We, all of us, will see you through this."

He nodded, very sincerely, and returned obediently to his room. Rude came back with sandwiches and more tea.

"I'm afraid of what I don't remember," he confessed. "Doctor Hankins says it's a protective mechanism, but what am I protecting against? By all accounts, I was lying in my own bed, in my own home."

"Pretty scared too."

"Really?" Rude didn't look like he'd been afraid of anything in his life.

"Last time you went chasing after lost memories, you disappeared for three months."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Might get sorrier." Rude smirked. "Ma's on her way, and we talked Yuffie into bringing Reeve."

"Great. Party in Psych Pod Three."

"Well, knowing Ma, she'll bring drinks." Rude grinned, realizing for the first time that he actually felt like it. That whatever was wrong with Vincent, he was most definitely still _Vincent_. But..."Do you want to stay?"

"Here? Not particularly."

"No, I mean, with me."

"What? Why wouldn't I? I assume I was with you for a reason." Plus, he just _liked _Rude. Solid, safe, no-nonsense.

"Was hoping so."

Vincent slid his hand across the bed, then noticed it had mustard on it from the sandwich. He reached for a tissue, wiped it off, and tried again, weaving his fingers between Rude's. It felt familiar. He knew this man. He took a deep breath, relaxed as he had under hypnosis, and no, the memories did not come, but he felt a pull in his body, in his heart.

"I want to stay."


	5. Chapter 5

_While Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters  
Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers  
Turn around and say good morning to the night  
For unless they see the sky  
But they can't and that is why  
They know not if it's dark outside or light—Elton John, Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters_

* * *

Reno arrived, Cloud in tow, the next morning. Tifa was not far ehind. "We wanted to give you a few days," Tifa explained.

"We wanted her to stop sobbing into bar towels," Reno clarified.

"It's upsetting, all right?"

Vincent patted her hand. He knew all too well his friend's maternal instincts. "I'll be all right," he said, repeating the therapist's words. "None of you would let me be anything else."

"How are you feeling?" Cloud asked softly, more sensitive than anyone to what Vincent was going through.

"Better. Remembering things under hypnosis, or starting to. Can't say I care for the experience."

"It probably beats a dip in the Lifestream."

"I didn't think of that. Thank you."

Reno left in search of his partner, and the door opened again to admit Nannan. Vincent wasn't sure if he recognized her from the pictures or if he knew in his heart that it simply could be no one else. After all, how many other five foot tall Costan woman barged into psych ward rooms without knocking, carrying milk jugs full of sangria?

Even for him, the list was pretty damn short. "Oh, my baby. So sick. What they did to you. I should bring you home, let you get better there, no? We'll fix you up. You want something to drink?"

"I do," Cloud answered.

Well hells. If the bar was open...He shoved the ugly pink hospital cup forward. Sangria at nine in the morning, in the hospital. Reno returned and Nannan pounced on him. "You little bastard! You never visit anymore! You, like a son to me!"

"I'm sorry Nannan."

"And you and Cloud with a house on the Point, too!"

"We'll come over next time, Nannan."

"Here, have a drink. I have more in the car." She poured one for Tifa, too, and they all sat on Vincent's bed drinking sangria and eating home made cheese puffs in the morning light, until Yuffie walked in with a distinctly uncomfortable Reeve in tow. Vincent got up to embrace his friend.

"Vince, I should have..."

"Stop it. You brought me to the hospital, that is all anyone could have done. Thank you." Reeve took a deep breath and drew back to look at his friend.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better. Remembering a few things, randomly, here and there. The staff is good here."

"Well. It was a more productive reaction, I suppose, than having you arrested. I still feel badly about that."

"You didn't know. I read it in my file, I'm not angry. Have a drink, my mother in law brought sangria. And cheese puffs." This was surreal, even for being insane; he nearly expected a butler to pop out from behind the door at any moment. He looked at Cloud. "Am I imagining this?"

"No, this is typical for anything that involves your in-laws."

Now he understood what Cid had meant, that second day out in the courtyard. Nannan poured Reeve a drink as though she were hosting a party. "I live a very strange life."

Nannan looked confused. "My uncle thought he was a bandersnatch," she said. "I'd say it runs in the family, but you married into this. May the gods help us all. You probably shouldn't have too much of that sangria. I don't know what drugs they have you on."

He handed over a mesh bag with thirteen bottles in it. "Two are vitamins."

"Eh."

"Lithium is the new one."

Reeve looked it up. "Says do not drink to excess."

"What's excess?" Vincent didn't exactly know, but looking around at this group, he suspected they had a slightly different definition than the rest of the Planet. Nannan began refilling glasses. Rude entered the room and began to rub his forehead.

"Babe...what the...Ma, I don't think..."

"Oh Rude," his mother chided. "Have a fucking drink. We all need it, and especially Vincent. It's a hospital, not a funeral. Hells, I've been to happier funerals."

Knowing when he was beaten, Rude poured a glass and sat down on the bed. After a while, the sangria was gone, the snacks were gone, and the party began to break up. The entire affair escaped the notice of the nursing staff, though how, Rude didn't exactly know. His mother had taken the empty milk jugs out with her and a bit of disinfectant spray covered the smell of alcohol rather neatly. They had limited Vincent to two small glasses, erring on the side of caution, but had given him all the cheese puffs he wanted. He had laughed and joked with Yuffie, and in the end even Reeve had loosened up, forgetting his angst and guilt over not being able to help his friend. Tifa had gone back to work with a noticeable buzz, and Cloud had decided that he wouldn't be balancing invoices today after all.

All in all, it had been good for everyone's mental health, including Vincent's. Rude watched him as he flipped through the photo albums on his laptop, and answered the occasional question.

"That's Nala. She worships you, follows you everywhere." He pointed to a little girl, about four or five years old, in Vincent's arms. "And Lar, he's eight, short for Lawrence."

"And I thought Rude was an awful name."

"Quiet, you. Funniest thing that ever happened with Lar was Reeve called you one too many times on vacation once. Lar thinks you're the shit because you work for the WRO, so you gave Lar your phone and told him he was your replacement and '5' was the speed dial to the Commissioner."

"I did not."

"That wasn't nearly as funny as when he called. Me and Cissy, that's their mama, fell down laughing. He was so serious. But you didn't have to answer the phone again."

"Oh, why has no one pushed me off a building before now? I am such a pain in the ass!" He groaned and rolled over into the pillow.

_Because I love you_. "You have your moments."

Vincent put down the laptop. "What are...we...I mean..."

"If you're asking about our sex life, it's pretty damn active. Tifa busted us in her liquor storeroom once."

"How far, busted?" Vincent had that 'watching a train wreck' look on his face, the kind where he didn't want to know, but couldn't look away.

"Shirts were off, your hand was in my pants, busted. To be fair, she was off getting a shipment and was supposed to be gone two hours and was back in less than one."

"Oh. Gods. I have to stop asking questions." He pulled a pillow over his head.

And Rude had to stop answering them because Vincent was starting to look pretty good in asylum pajamas. Especially after sleeping next to the man every night without so much as a kiss. Vincent pulled the pillow away and raised up on his elbows, looking deep into Rude's eyes over the edge of his glasses.

"Vin."

"Yeah. This is probably..."

"-a bad idea."

"-inappropriate given the circumstances."

Their lips were less than an inch apart when Vincent's cell alarm went off.

Time for therapy.

* * *

He had come alone this time, to give Rude a much needed break. The therapist's voice droned in the background, soothing him. "All right, Vincent. You're in your home. Tell me what you see."

"The bedroom. I'm still in bed. It's nice, but strange. I don't remember how I got here."

"All right, now I want you to go back to sleep. Did you dream?"

He frowned. "Yes. It was bad."

"Can you tell me about it?"

"I went to visit Rude at work. There are two floors below Administrative Research in the new Tower, that have a pass key access. I'm always wondering what is on them. So today, I push the emergency stop and pry the doors open. I'm strong enough to do it."

"What do you see?"

"The labs. They kept the labs. Hojo is still there, still alive. There's an alarm, it's from the elevator. I'm running for the stairs but the Turks are there. Rude tells me that I can't leave now that I've seen it. He's sorry but I had to know what way his choice would go." He drew a shaky breath. "I'm stronger than he is, so I try to fight but someone gives me an injection and I can't fight anymore. I'm looking at Rude." Another man would have wept, but like most torture victims, Vincent had come to learn that safety lay in silence, in going unnoticed. And so he sat immobile and small on the sofa. "I thought you loved me."

"Does he answer you? What does he say? Vincent, I want you to wake up now, all right?"

Vincent doubled over on the sofa and hugged his knees; what he said was unintelligible. She got up to put her arm around him. "What? What did he say?"

He turned his head, voice devoid of emotion. "He said, 'Not that much.'"

* * *

Refusing to move, Vincent had to be Tranqed just to get him back to his own room, and just the summary of the hypnosis session was enough to make Rude ill.

"He said what?"

"He dreamed that you betrayed him to Hojo because he found out that the floors below the Turks were labs." Doctor Hankins looked nearly as worn out as her patient.

"Well. They are," Tseng pointed out unhelpfully to the small group gathered at the nurses' station. "And they are restricted access, but if he ever managed to get onto them, and let's face it, we knew that was a risk when we began to allow him in the building because no lock is safe around that man, the most we'd do is tell his boss. At this point it is an issue of industrial espionage, not unauthorized experiments on humans. ShinRa has to stay competitive now in order to retain solvency. Politics and economics are no longer quite the bedfellows they once were."

"Well the good news is, he has some of his memories back," Doctor Hankins said. "The bad news is, they are the bad ones. When he wakes up, hopefully we'll find out he remembers some good things as well."

"Can I see him?"

"Yes, Rude, briefly. Don't wake him. We may still have to move him to Medical, if becomes too upset. But yes, you can go in and see him for a few moments."

Rude left. Tseng shook his head. "I wonder if...well the President won't be happy, but if we could show Vincent that the labs are not what he dreamed they were? I truly do not believe he would sell technology. He has no need of the money and has no active desire to harm ShinRa as it is now."

Reeve, who had been standing silently nearby, said "See if you can convince him. If we can get Vincent up to it, emotionally, it may be the reassurance he needs."

"I'll discuss it with him, after his lunchtime martini. He'll be in a better mood then."

"And, I'll go relieve Rude. Who knows what kind of state Vincent will be in, when he wakes."

Reeve walked down the hall to a room that was becoming all too familiar and slipped into the door without knocking. His friend lay on the bed, heavily sedated once again. Rude sat next to him and held his hand around the needle of an IV. "He's resting."

"He needs it, Rude. He's been through a lot today." He watched the heavy, tanned thumb caress over Vincent's thin, limp hand. Remembered the months of teasing he'd given his friend when he discovered his crush on the Turk, then his sincere questioning when he found out Vincent's feelings went much, much deeper than that. He realized now that the gunman had chosen his mate well. "Go home. Get some sleep. I'll call you."

"Yeah." Rude rose from the chair and picked up his jacket, nodding his thanks.

Reeve sat down with his tablet, determined to get some work done, but instead only watched his friend sleep, as the rest of them had done off and on for the last week, until his eyes began to blur.


	6. Chapter 6

_People say I'm crazy  
I got diamonds on the soles of my shoes  
Well that's one way to lose  
These walking blues  
Diamonds on the soles of your shoes—Paul Simon, Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes _

* * *

"Where is Rude?"

The question woke Reeve from an uncomfortable doze in the bedside chair. "He went home to get some rest."

"I went bugshit in therapy, didn't I?"

"That's a Highwind word. But yes, you did. How do you feel?"

"Head hurts, throat hurts."

"I'll get you something for the pain. What do you remember?"

"Bits and pieces. Like a jigsaw puzzle someone just dumped out of the box. But more than I did." He sat up and yanked the IV out of his arm. "Gotta pee."

Ah, Vincent, forever a terrible patient. He texted Rude to let him know his husband was up and grumbling. "He's on his way," Reeve said when Vincent stumbled out of the bathroom.

"Have him bring hot and sour soup." He fell back into the bed and Reeve sent another text. "Gods, my head feels like it's full of sharp rocks."

"Migraine?"

"No, more like a hangover."

"You're dehydrated; you should have left the fluids line in. I'll be right back." He fetched a sports drink from the nurses' station and brought it back to his friend who predictably, groused about it tasting like flavored sweat. "Here's some painkillers to go with it. No narcotics, I thought you might have had enough of those."

"No kidding. What time is it?"

"Six. You slept the day away."

"Mmph." He sipped on the drink, flavored sweat or no, for a few minutes. "I've put everyone through almighty hells, all for a bad dream. I feel like hiding under the bed."

"Best clean out under your own, then. I understand from talking to your doctors, this might not be the last time you do it. You just added a good five pages to your medical file."

"Two words. Privacy Regulations."

"More than two words: You put me on your care team when you switched neurologists, so that if you were ever hospitalized I would have access to your medical information without having to deal with the inconvenience of privacy regulations."

"I forgot about that."

"Amnesia sucks, Vince."

"So, what's wrong with me? Before I talk to that prepubescent twit I have for a shrink."

"He's thirty two and served a residency in one of the highest rated traumatic disorder treatment facilities on the planet. Cut him some slack. You have bipolar disorder which you just found out about. You also already know about the post traumatic stress disorder. What we just tossed into the mix is a second traumatic condition called dissociative disorder. It's a defense mechanism. When the mind just gets too much, it shuts down. It says, in essence, we won't remember this, we need some distance."

"So why did I forget my life now? Why did I forget my friends, why Rude of all people?"

"Because in your dream, or hallucination, your life now is what betrayed you, is my guess. Rude betrayed you. Or, it could have something to do with your demons, maybe they are shielding that part. I'm no psychiatrist, but I don't think they know either. Your therapist said they're going to change your therapy some to work on the traumatic disorders. And the pills are very effective on the bipolar disorder. But it may happen again. But Vince?"

He looked up from where he'd been picking at the bedspread.

"If it does, we know what to do."

"Do you still want me to work for you? I mean, I'm..."

"No crazier than you were a week ago. We just have a name for it."

"Fine. Hand me the computer." He opened it up and began to refamiliarize himself with the inner workings of the WRO. "I can't believe what Rude puts up with, from me.

"That man is so in love with you, he walks into walls."

Whatever response Vincent had to that was cut off by Rude's arrival with soup and a large mug of hot tea with honey. "Feeling better?" Reeve discreetly rose and exited the room.

"Feeling like shit. Did they beat me?"

"Yes, repeatedly. Here's your soup." He opened the container and unwrapped the spoon. "You do look like you've gone a few rounds, babe."

He made a noncommittal humming noise and settled back into Rude's shoulder as he finished his soup and tea. The hot liquids soothed his throat, ravaged by the effects of the session earlier, and the food soon had him drowsing. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Take out. And putting up with me."

Rude took off his glasses; statements like that called for a full face rub rather than just the forehead treatment. "I love you." He hadn't said it since Vincent had lost his memory for fear of putting pressure on him, but now it was called for, somehow.

"I love you too."

"You remember...us."

"Enough. But I knew, before." This time Rude did kiss him, softly, but with promise. He meant it for reassurance, but it held more heat that he intended. He pulled back awkwardly.

"Wasn't sure you'd want to see me after that session."

Vincent gave his old, tiny smile. "You wouldn't betray me."

"I wouldn't. Tseng says he thinks the President might let you see the labs, to show you they aren't what you dreamed. Babe, even I haven't seen them. Only Tseng."

"What are they?"

"Research and development. Marketing. Medical goods. Testing machinery, like the MRI machine and shit. Trying to make things smaller and faster. And cheaper, increase profit. There's big money in it, and the competition is stiff, that's why the security. Do we have to talk about ShinRa tonight?" Vincent had started to move against him, picking up where they had left off before the alarm had rung. Rude kissed him again, the pretense of comfort all but gone now. "I mean, we don't have to..."

"No, we don't."

"We probably will," Rude admitted dryly as he weakened. Vincent, too, was beginning to yield against the warmth of the body next to his. It had been so long, and there had been so much pain. The touch felt too good to ignore, or stop.

"Door doesn't lock," Vincent whispered between kisses.

"Can't be any worse than a liquor storeroom."

"Nurses don't come in much at night."

"Good point, babe." Rude peppered kisses along the shell of Vincent's ear. He questioned the wisdom of this, whether Vincent was really ready, was well enough. He remembered what he had read about manic patients being hyper-sexual and then forgot it all when he felt a tongue part his lips.

He just wasn't that resilient. Ethics could wait. He'd add sex with a mental patient to his list of things he really shouldn't have done in this life; it was long enough as it was, and one more misdeed wouldn't make that much of a difference and gods, his pants were being unzipped and he was so hard he hurt.

"Make it quick. Tifa was a good sport and just made us unload the truck."

Rude stopped. "You remember that?"

"Mmm hmmm." Vincent's mouth was otherwise occupied. Rude decided not to stop him, the wet heat enveloping first the head and sending shocks of pleasure through his body after so long without it, then felt the attentions travel down the whole of his shaft. He grabbed up handfuls of the cheap institutional bedspread when he felt himself hit the back of Vincent's throat, desperate for any kind of anchor in this world. He was dizzy, the only reality that beautiful mouth, the tongue making sometimes soft, sometimes rough circles around him. It pressed now into the slit as Vincent hummed in his own pleasure-damn, but the man was good at this, and enjoyed it too-and the vibrations nearly sent Rude past the edge-but then he slipped one finger inside him, and touched him, and it was all over in a quiet cry.

"Come here," but Vincent was already in his arms and Rude had him in his hand. Gods, how they had both missed this, missed so much more than the physical release.

Vincent made a rare little whimper, a sound of need. "Oh gods."

"I know, baby."

It was only a few more strokes and Vincent was coming, moaning into Rude's shoulder. Rude held him in the aftermath; held him until he could get his bearings, the sudden shift from imagined betrayal to the utter trust of intimacy leaving him a little unbalanced. But Vincent rode out the waves of it, held on, and slowly came back to himself in the safety of those arms he had never really forgotten.

They clung to each other and caught their breath, laughing a little in embarrassment over how little time it had taken. "Okay. That's actually a first, even for me," Vincent chuckled.

"What is?" Rude rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling, remembering the first night he was here and held Vincent, doing the same thing. Well, without the orgasm.

"Sex in a psych ward." Vincent rearranged his pajamas and got up to get them a washcloth. "I'd like to get out of here and wear my own clothes again."

"And I'd like to see you in them." He missed that too; Vincent in jeans could stop traffic. Rude pulled him back into his arms, and they settled together.

"Supposedly the rest of my memories will come back, bit by bit. It's so odd, I remember things now but the order is so strange. Or pressed together without any perspective like those artsy holiday cards."

"It will come. Give the medicine time to work." They lay together for a time, then Rude whispered, "It never would have happened. Your dream. I'd have run with you to the ends of the Planet."

It would have been death to them both; ShinRa's arm was long, still.

"I know."

They slept.

* * *

"What's my password?"

It was a question thousands of employees asked, all over Gaia every day, but Vincent truly did not remember. Cloud pulled the laptop over to the empty side of the bed and pressed a few keys and said, "There. Reset."

"That's all it takes? What good is a password if a hacker like you can just get into anything he wants?"

"They make people feel better."

"And Yuffie has been doing my job while I've been gone."

"Yes. You just thought you were scared while you were off your nut."

"I'm still off my nut, Cloud, I just have my job back."

"I can't believe the WRO is being run out of a psych ward."

Reeve looked up from his makeshift desk, which during non-business hours served as Vincent's meal tray. "It's always been run out of a psych ward, Cloud. We just now became honest about the address. It's only for another week, though. Vince's doctor wants him under observation with the new medication cocktail."

"Privacy. Regulations. Cloud is not on my care team."

Cloud snorted. "No, but you're married to my husband's work partner and your boss is sleeping with their director."

"Cloud, that last bit is not public knowledge, thank you," Reeve growled.

"Yes it is," Vincent replied without even pausing. "Has been for years, since you were still at Urban Development."

"YOU didn't know!"

"No, Reeve, you didn't tell me. There is a difference. I just did a very good job of keeping a straight face when you confessed. I'm only a terrible liar when I have to say something. Here, read this email. Is it up to my usual standards?"

"It's full of your usual nonsense and saying nothing with a lot of big words." He handed the laptop back to his friend. "I think I liked you better when you couldn't remember anything."

He walked out of the room, tossing his formal blue coat over his arm, a sure sign that he had some official appearance that day as he rarely wore it for anything else anymore. Cloud looked at Vincent with a satisfied grin.

"It's good to have you back."

* * *

The down side to being "back," however, and not being at leisure to come and go at will, was the sheer boredom. Therapy had been cut down to once a week, though with the more accurate diagnosis, Vincent had to admit it was more productive. Cognitive therapy now targeted the coping mechanisms that had been overwhelmed by Hojo's abuse, putting back together what most people did without a second thought. The doctors had given him books to read, and art therapy, which he absolutely, completely sucked at doing. He did have fun, though, drawing unflattering stick figures of Hojo, but that was as far as his talents extended.

The medication had evened out the mania; the psychiatrist had warned him that with the next episode he might have to increase the dosage, since this particular 'fit' was waning. Rude brought him the electronic reader from home and even loaded new books, not the self help variety, on it from the office when the Turk saw something he might like. Reeve let him work part time, too, though such work was closely supervised. It would take time, to get back on his feet.

Patience was simply not his strong point.

All in all, things were almost back to normal. If normal included the ugly pajamas he'd been wearing for nearly two weeks, and the Banana Man who came by for his daily bug removal, and the lady who counted raisins from her lunch in the corner, and the other varied personalities that he had come to expect. The courtyard was General Population, meaning anyone not violent or a danger to themselves could go there. Vincent often went, and talked to the sicker patients, thinking no one else might.

He knew what it was like to be seen as less than human. Believing there were bugs in your banana was no reason to be lonely. Plus, it beat the hell out of the last two times he had been in a mental hospital; here he had neither been raped, nor neglected until Rude kidnapped him on a road trip to Costa.

Ah, Rude. The other reason he couldn't wait to get home. In the last week, his sex life had been limited to an aborted kiss, a hand job, and one quickie in the shower stall, praying a well meaning nurse didn't barge in, thinking he had fallen. When he returned to his condo, he promised himself that he would, for the first time in more than thirty years, not give one flying damn about his scars, march around naked for a week, and have deliciously slow sex on every flat or possibly curved surface in his home until he could no longer walk.

He looked across the courtyard and saw Rude now, walking over with a container of barbecue and a soda. Two more days, and they could finish their workdays at the wine bar, and walk home together. It was something he would never take for granted again.

He excused himself from Banana Man, and went to meet his husband.

* * *

The first night in his own bed had been sheer bliss. He had celebrated with the world's longest tub bath, with wine, and sex that included actual foreplay. And, wearing clothes that were his own, at long last, he sauntered to work with an attitude that said yes, I do own the street, I just let you walk on it.

It was good to be home.

Rufus had approved the visit to the labs, though Vincent hadn't gotten far into them before his own anxiety had warned him, it was too soon. But he had seen enough. There were no human subjects, or even animals. Just a lot of nerds, excited to be working on machines. His father would have done cartwheels. Vincent, for his part, couldn't wait to get back into the elevator, pop a Tranq, and call Rude. Maybe he'd take another trip when he felt up to it, if there was a need, but maybe not. It was an issue to be revisited later, and he realized now that not all of his problems had to be solved immediately.

As Rude was fond of saying, "We got time."

He stopped in the deli for a sandwich and had it wrapped to go, picking up one of those disgustingly sweet drinks for Reeve. Rounding the corner to the WRO building, he took the stairs to the third floor. He never liked elevators. He wasn't claustrophobic, exactly, but he didn't like being limited in his movement, or view. Plus, he didn't care to have an opening door or bell announcing his arrival.

The habits of a Turk died hard, or not at all. The same habit forced him to turn the knob silently rather than just breeze in, as Reeve had a tendency to do. He went first to his office and put down his lunch, then picked up Reeve's drink.

And stopped.

There was no sound.

Reeve was never quiet. The man made a thousand tiny unconscious noises; humming, scribbling, typing, muttering, things that if asked he would deny ever doing. The door stood open, and the light was on. Vincent pulled his pistol, the compact he kept in his pocket. Creeping silently along the edge of the hallway, he paused outside the Commissioner's office.

He could hear breathing. Two people. Reeve was not alone.

Hurrying through the door for the element of surprise, Vincent quickly took in the scene. Reeve sat at the desk, both hands out in front of him. Another man stood over him, and began to raise his arm.

Vincent did not know the intruder, did not recognize him even from the dim almost-memory that had formed his life for the last two weeks, but going on the instinct that had kept him alive until now, shot him center mass and watched as he fell dead to the hardwood floor.


End file.
